


It's Time

by seaofolives



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Gen, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: Set during the period of time between the non-hug and the ending scene.





	It's Time

Thor does not remember the last time he’d embraced his brother. 

But he remembers it had been a time of peace—a time when Ragnarok had been nothing more than an old man’s warning. Loki had not come marching to him then with an urgent gait, and jogging when Thor hastened his own approach. There had been no triumph, no electric relief coursing through their bones and their muscles when they grasped each other finally in tight, crushing arms. Thor’s laughter had not come bubbling up to the surface when he claps his brother at the back and shakes him. 

Loki had not looked like he was about to cry when he pulls back to inspect his brother, patting the meat of his arms and gripping him fiercely. His face is screwed tight by emotions when he looks up to Thor, and it takes all of him to shove down his own tears when he sees how close his brother is to losing it. Instead, he lets out his nerves in another laugh—at least he will not be a sobbing mess—and he claps his brother at the back of his neck. Loki cracks like a rock and begins to laugh. 

His brother gives him several nods, approvingly, and tells him, “You look like shit.”

He does not remember the last time they had walked side-by-side each other, not to escape or to fight but just to walk. The change of pace is almost stunning after the mad flight and the battle rush, but it is a good one, and feels sweet. 

Thor can almost imagine that they weren’t floating in space with no permanent address, just two young princes talking shop, comparing notes. Loki is telling Thor that they owe their survival to his work, that a statue made in his honor would not be so inappropriate a token of gratitude. Thor has to remind him that were it not for his ingenuity, he would not be in a position to barter rewards, or be in a ship to nowhere to begin with. 

“Fine,” Loki concedes, their easy steps echoing in the blue corridor. “Your decision to sacrifice our home to save the people took great guts, but so did my actions. Summoning Surtur isn’t something I do on any given day.”

“Well, it’s like what you said, brother,” Thor says as they come up to an impressive set of doors. “If it were easy, anyone would do it. That’s why I chose you,” he juts a finger at Loki, “‘cause I knew you could do it.”

“You know, I’m still gonna want that statue, brother.”

“Tell you what: I’ll trade that statue of yours for a play. I’m sure we can find those actors of yours somewhere here.”

Loki barely has to think about it. “Okay,” he accepts, showing him a smile. “I like that better.”

Thor returns it with a grin. He faces forward, then, and the grin fades slowly. 

Loki follows his gaze, and finds the doors. It stops him for a moment, but he turns back to Thor after, and asks him, “Nervous, brother?” 

Thor remembers a time when that same question had been asked him. He had been a different man, then, full of air. Of bravado and nothing more. He looks down to his hands and finds them empty. 

He does not remember wanting to be king, anymore. 

“Just thinking,” Thor answers with a faint smirk. “Thinking if I can do this. Thinking if I can be the king our people need.”

“Maybe not,” Loki says. 

Thor turns to him. 

“But you’re who we have,” Loki reminds him. “And that’s enough.” He smiles, then. An impressive show of faith. 

And Thor smiles back at it. He turns again to face the doors, the last barrier between him and his people. His inevitable future. He shakes his hands, like a man preparing for a match. 

“How do I look?” he asks. 

“Like a king,” Loki answers quietly. He faces the doors himself. “It’s time,” he says. 

Thor hears him, but does not follow. The moment he steps through those doors, he will be a king for centuries to come. What is five more minutes as a free man to forever? “You go ahead,” he tells Loki, though he does not face him. 

When he does, he reassures his frowning brother, “I’ll be along. Go on.” Thor offers him another smile when he does not budge. 

But later, Loki tells him, “No. This time, you go ahead. It’s time.”

Time to be a king, it seems. Thor glances briefly at the doors but turns back quickly to Loki who rejects him and promises him, “I’ll be along, go on.” He stands trapped between his brother and his people. There is nowhere else for him to go. 

But he has never been one to stay put, even when he has to shake his head, and press his hands against the doors to push them open. A hush falls as a wall of faces turn to see his appearance, spanning the entirety of the room, from where he stands to the windows across of him. Where the seat of leadership awaits beyond a sea of people. There is no space to walk, he does not know how he can. 

He tries one step anyway, and then another. Soon enough, he would be among his people, shoulder to shoulder with them. He would keep walking, and they would carve his path for him, until he is five more paces, ten more paces in. He looks back. 

But Loki only waves him on. _Go on, keep walking,_ he mouths. 

So he does. He is surrounded by his people now, all of them bowing, smiling, and to each of them, he, too, smiles and nods. He keeps going at their behest, keeps smiling and nodding. 

Until finally, he comes up to the captain’s seat. “Your throne,” Brunhilde calls it. His throne. It is much simpler, and smaller than what he is used to, and perhaps that makes it easier for him to take his place, at the helm of his people. 

And so does Loki, coming up at his side when he turns to look for him, right where he is hoping to see him. And that instantly makes him feel better. 

“So, King of Asgard,” Heimdall calls him, drawing his attention to the thousands of faces all turned to him, watching in rapt attention. “Where to?”


End file.
